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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28971957">Until the walls crumble,</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/perilouspursuits/pseuds/perilouspursuits'>perilouspursuits</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>After the quest, M/M, Minas Tirith, Please I just want them to be happy, arwen doesnt really exist, can be read as platonic, vaguely canon compliant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:47:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28971957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/perilouspursuits/pseuds/perilouspursuits</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At long last Legolas finds a place he can truly call home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Until the walls crumble,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Legolas stood on the balcony, his eyes on the horizon. The Fellowship had dissolved after completing their quest. The Hobbits had returned to the Shire, Gimli was once again among his dwarven brother’s, Aragorn had been crowned king, and Legolas was paralyzed. He had remained in Minas Tirith longer than every other member of the Fellowship and for the first time in all of his years, he did not understand why he felt the way he did. </p><p>At first, he chalked it up to wanting to rest, regain strength of mind before moving onto his next quest but as the months tumbled by in a blur, he became less and less sure. For the most part, Legolas stayed by Aragorn’s side as an advisor of sorts. Aragorn did not need advising but the illusion of a purpose gave Legolas peace of mind. He was here to do a job and nothing more. This job, however, had not been assigned to him, and as much as he knew he could be doing more from the throne of Mirkwood he did not want to return to his father’s halls. </p><p>Ever so slowly Legolas relaxed. The people of Minas Tirith began to recognize and greet him. He often spoke with the stable boys and although his demeanor mostly revolved around his reservedness he began to jest with them in the way he once did with Gimli. One of the castle cooks had tried to bake Lembas bread to give Legolas “a reminder of home” Legolas wasn’t sure what home the cook referenced was and the bread was nowhere near elf standards but he appreciated the gesture all the same. He was surprised by the humans, to say the least, he’d known of them and interacted with some for millennia but they were kinder than any tale made them out to be. Even knowing Aragorn for so long had not prepared him for the humans’ legitimate generosity. Elves were not mean creatures by any standards of course but often their kindness was out of courtesy and diplomacy more so than from the heart. Another observation of Legolas’ was how his fellow members of the court lacked a certain reverence among them. They were respectful of course but they easily giggled at small mistakes whether the mistakes be theirs or their friend’s. They were cheerful even in the cold months of winter, Legolas understood why of course. </p><p>Aragorn had stabilized Minas Tirith significantly, he put policies in place ensuring enough pay that everyone, even the stablehands, were able to live in comfort. He provided food and homes and jobs for those without and had assembled a board of scholars to build the first of an education system that taught children to read and write. Minas Tirith was raising clever children, many of whom were already skillful at poetry or song, and others who intended to focus more on crafts such as smithing or leatherworking.</p><p> Legolas fondly recalled the night the children had been invited to share any writing or poem of their own composition with the King. One of the children presenting their poem to the king. She had been smaller than the others, nearly the size of a hobbit. Her nervousness was clear but her voice was strong enough that one could ignore her shaking hands. Her poem was of an adventure, one she had yet to achieve but knew was coming soon. Her words were skillful for those of a child and Aragorn had requested to confer with her parents. Without a hint of discretion or tact, the courtier had announced that the child’s parents had passed away in the battle of Minas Tirith to the entire court. A mournful silence had fallen then, this child standing with a respectfully bowed head was a harsh reminder of what had been lost. Legolas pushed down a strange feeling of protectiveness at the quiet sorrow that crossed her face. </p><p>“In spite of tragedy even the youngest of us soldier on,” Faramir had been the first to speak and his declaration was followed with muted sounds of agreement. That had been only a season ago but Legolas wondered how the young child was fairing. He had long put aside the idea of fatherhood in exchange for adventure. He did not want to be his father, harshly controlling his children from a throne room but something about a child born into war reminded him far too much of himself. </p><p>Legolas heard Aragorn approach in the corner of his mind but he was deep enough in thought that he did not comment. </p><p>“It’s late, Meleth nin,” Aragorn said, his tone guised to be neutral just above the chiding edge. </p><p>“Yes, it is,” Legolas agreed. </p><p>“What are you thinking of?” </p><p>Legolas spared Aragorn a glance carefully considering how he should proceed. </p><p>“I wonder if I have stayed here too long,” It was vaguely the truth but Legolas was trying very hard to keep down the other things he was thinking. </p><p>“Do you wish to leave?” Legolas was startled by the question, he had expected Aragorn in all his directness to tell Legolas that he was right. </p><p>“I do not, I fear that is the problem,” </p><p>“You will be welcome in Minas Tirith until the end of time,” </p><p>Legolas chuckled gently at that. Tears threatened to spill now, he had not cried for a thousand years but now as he thought of the future, he couldn’t help but remember that one day the stable hands would no longer be young enough to tend to the horses, that years from now the baker would no longer be able to wield dough skillfully, and even Aragorn himself would eventually fall victim to old age. One day Legolas would have to ride out of the outer gate and one day he would not be welcomed back. Then what? He kept his eyes firmly on the horizon in the hope his friend would miss his moment of weakness.</p><p>Aragorn did not miss it of course. He reached out gently to grasp Legolas’ cheek and turned the Elf’s gaze away from the horizon and towards him. </p><p>“Legolas, you will be welcome in Minas Tirith until the walls crumble and the Tree of Gondor withers, I swear on every star there will never be a day when Minas Tirith does not open its gates to you in welcome, it is not evil to want to rest, it is not evil to want a home Legolas, and if you wish, Minas Tirith can be your home,” </p><p>Legolas enveloped Aragorn in a tearful hug before another word could be spoken.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!<br/>It's been a while since I've written anything so go easy on me :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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